le kitchens of sailing vessels.

I happened to know an Englishman employed as clerk to a firm of Dutch
forwarding agents whose offices were in the Dam, and this man, whose
name was Graham, I at once sought.

We went out to a cafe together, and I explained the object of my
visit, namely, the investigation of the death of Baron van Veltrup.
Graham at once regarded me with considerable astonishment, for very
naturally he could not make out why I should take such a keen interest
in the death of one of the richest men in Holland.

"The Baron died of heart failure," my friend said. "The doctors are
agreed upon that. His valet told some extraordinary story, but no
credence has been placed in it. There has been a good deal in the
papers concerning the unfortunate affair, but the excitement has now
all died down. The Baron was, I believe, buried yesterday."

"I know that there is no suspicion that death was due to foul play,
Graham," I said. "But I confess that in face of certain knowledge I
possess I am not altogether satisfied with the doctor's conclusion."

My friend smiled incredulously.

"At first, the police were, I heard, inclined to suspect foul play.
But after full investigation they are now quite satisfied as to the
cause of death."

"Be that as it may, I intend to make a few discreet inquiries," I
replied resolutely. "I want you, if you will, to assist me."

He smiled again in undisguised disbelief.

"Of course you are at liberty to express your own opinion," he said
with some reluctance. "And if you wish, I will assist you. But I
really think, Garfield, that you will be only wasting your time--and
mine."

"I hope not," I assured him. "Were I not in possession of certain
exclusive information I should not venture to come here from London
and trouble you, as I am doing."

Graham, whom I had known for a number of years, looked very straight
at me.

"What is the nature of this exclusive information?" he inquired. "You
are concealing something, Hugh."

"Yes. I know I am," was my reply as I smiled at him. "I am here to
discover the truth regarding the death of Baron van Veltrup."

"Then you suspect foul play--eh?" asked my friend.

"Yes, I do," I replied in a low voice, "and I want you, Graham, to put
me in touch with the Baron's valet."

"He is a man named Folcker, a Swede, according to the newspapers. I
dare say I could find him."

"If you can, you will assist me very much. I must have a chat with